2 Sep 2014, 11:59am

So far

I feel we should have a word.

I seem to have boxed myself into the idea that I can’t have a word without a photo. It’s like a talking point, a device like a novelty in pocket to ice-break even with self.

You have to start one place. Many places go no where. Just one. It can be arbitrary. Movement is more important than destination. Direction inevitably changes.

I can do words but I feel non-verbal. Two weeks I’ve felt off kilter. Better this week than last.

I can do eye- or hand-movement but feel all is a layer too thin. Watercolor thinking instead of oil. Or muddy scribbles. It’s as if being in a raucous room trying to make myself heard through the thick of competing voices. It’s physically fatiguing. It’s a learning curve to assert my mental lungs and compete and carry on my thing rather than just let myself be washed by it. Although fitting task to capacity is a good strategy as well. It’s a pain to need to adapt. Sometimes refusing is good too.

My head is clearing. Today is better than yesterday. Yesterday all felt impossible, futile. Grim Peeper is depression. Easy to mock and dodge. Except when persistent. Even when the heart feels light and amused, patient and tolerant of the Fool, peep, peep, peep. Failure to Care kept wanting to trump any and everything. The head had a noise of clatter so pulling out strands of one thing without interruption took more energy than it usually does. It’s as if the visual system and organizational system are tethered somehow. What size of pot to what size of burner seemed unhackable. Threat response was wonky. I could see it. Self felt more delicate and therefore angry and witty. So tenderness to self. Can’t hit the off button on the buzz saw so let ‘er rip as long it needs to and leave me out of it.

Could be triggered by body’s calendar. Anticipation. It would be my dad’s 87th birthday today. Flipflop. Call mom in case in weighs on her or flipflop, not call, in case she’s dismissing the bodily memory and engaged with now.

Or that may be ascribing the body too much intelligence. Solar flares. Randomness. Why posit logic into the irrational. The body could be on about anything.

Today, my limbs feel more mobile. Only under the normal number of gravitational weights. Reading Hello my name is Diane by Sandra Ridley at OpenBook on the life living with panic attack.

I can absorb information. Parse easier. Lists can be made. Tasks done. So far so good.

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